


we instead of me

by louisandthealien



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor AU, Fluff, M/M, Tony Awards AU, they're parents in this but the kid is only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisandthealien/pseuds/louisandthealien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis wins the Tony for Best Actor in a Play and completely loses it in his award speech because of how much he loves Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we instead of me

**Author's Note:**

> based on this post: 
> 
> "SOMEONE WRITE ME AN AU WHERE HARRY AND LOUIS ARE JAMES AND HIS WIFE AND LOUIS GIVES THE SAME SPEECH JAMES DID AFTER HE WINS THE TONY’S PLEASE I’M BEGGING" 
> 
> http://louisandthealien.tumblr.com/post/145578796631/idareyoutotakealook-idareyoutotakealook

“And the award for Best Actor in a Play goes to....”

Louis can’t breathe. His chest is tight and he can’t swallow and— _ fuck— _ he gave an interview not even three hours ago saying how excited he was, how it was honor to just be  _ nominated _ , but in the three heart beats since the beginning of that short, horrible, iconic sentence— _ And the award goes to— _ it’s fully hit him just how much he wants this. How fiercely he cares and how adamantly he’s praying.

The circulation in his right hand’s been all but cut off, and he can feel the blunt curve of Harry’s rings cutting into the web of his little finger. It pinches, he’s holding on so tight, and there’s adrenaline surging through him, has him sweating, hands shaking, but this— Harry. Harry here. Next to him. Holding on, holding him close, holding him down— this anchors him.

He doesn’t even hear it when they say his name. If he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t swallow, he certainly can’t hear, ears ringing loud in artificial silence.

“Louis Tomlinson!  _ One Man, Two Guvnors!” _

But then everyone around him is cheering and he’s being hauled to his feet or—  _ Harry’s _ hauling him to his feet, and if the three heartbeats while waiting for the winner to be announced were the top of a rollercoaster, this must be the million foot drop because Harry’s yelling in his ear and hugging him close, kiss after kiss planted against his numb and then fiery cheek.

Somewhere in between the third and fourth kiss he hears Harry’s voice, broken and we, “You did it, babe! Lou, you fucking did it!” And then it finally hits him.

He won.  _ He actually won. _

Auto-pilot gets him to the stage— he doesn’t remember walking up—and then suddenly he’s there, wrapped in silence, and staring out into a sea of his peers. Legends. Assholes. Icons. And he realizes he doesn’t even know what to say.

Annie’d been a monster all week, is the thing. First a cold, then maybe a growth spurt, and there hadn’t been much time for sleep in the Tomlinson-Style’s household, much less time to contemplate an acceptance speech for a Tony he hadn’t even dreamt of winning.

There are a few more shouts filling the silence. When he opens his mouth for a self-depreciating, “Oh, stop,” his voice cracks terribly, warbly even to his own ears.

He’s never had stage fright. He’s never been afraid of attention, and he’s never not known what to say. But in that moment Louis’ so floored, so filled with every emotion under the sun that he nearly chokes, just doesn’t know what to say, how to express what he’s feeling.

His eyes automatically search for Harry, landing on his beaming, wide-eyed, teary face almost immediately. Harry must be able to sense his nerves and gives him a smaller smile then, different than his grin, meant just for Louis.

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head once, and starts. He thanks everyone—everyone he can possibly think of. Directors, producers, his castmates, and the barista at Starbucks that knows his drink every morning. Friends, family, everyone,  _ everyone _ and he’s sure forgetting people because there’s too many, just too many for him to thank. He could talk for an hour and there’d be more.

His eyes are on Harry the whole time, however, and he can feel his throat get tighter and tighter as the speech draws to a close, knows his time is running out. He can feel the pricking in his eyes get hotter and then wetter until the feat tear falls, and it’s time now, but he doesn’t know how to put this into words. Knows he could never, ever,  _ ever _ come close to explaining who Harry is, what he’s done, and how much Louis owes him.

But he tries.

“My, um,” he inhales shakily, fingers clutching the award, “my boyfriend, Harry, and I became fathers like...like five days before we started rehearsals.” Five days and sixteen hours to be exact. They’d gotten the call at 7 AM— the paperwork had gone through early. Everything was set and ready. Baby Annie was ready when they were to join their new family. 

“And, um, he’s,” Louis’ voice cracks in earnest now, can’t even get the words out as fifteen months worth of memories and laughter and long nights fly through his mind. Coming home late to Harry stretched across the sofa, Annie curled up on his chest, little face snuggled into his neck. Her first steps. Missing her first words for a tech rehearsal. That one weekend when they didn’t speak to each other for 72 hours. That one Friday night last October, exhausted from working all day and laying on the kitchen floor, covered in baby food, when Louis’d looked at Harry and they’d both started laughing, just  _ laughing— _ and then crying, realizing simultaneously that everything was going to be fine. That it would all work out in the end.

“And he’s—he’s my baby mama. And I can’t wait to marry him.” It’s true. It’s so fucking true it hurts, and staring out into the audience, seeing that look— that incredible, beautiful,  _ proud _ look on Harry’s face— Louis knows it’s true. Sort of wants to elope as soon as possible. Get started on that ‘til death do us part stuff. Harry wipes his eyes and Louis presses on.

“Seriously, I would— I would not be holding this if it wasn’t for him. He—” and suddenly Harry’s words from early come back to him.  _ You did it, babe! _ And— and Louis just has to correct him. Has to show him how wrong he is. “And he made me say us instead of I,” he swallows, “and we instead of me.”

He can barely get the words out, but he does. Wants to shout them. Hopes Harry knows this is for every time Louis’ ever fucked up, for every time Harry’s made him want to be a better person. For being there when he was terrified before auditions, for talking him through the anxiety of a newborn plus a new show. For showing him that love is not blind, that it sees one’s faults and life’s obstacles and pushes on when it feels like crumbling.

He raises his award high and looks away from Harry then, over his head and out into the crowd. Because this isn’t for him. This is is everyone in the room, in the  _ world _ , will know, will understand.

_ “And I love him.” _


End file.
